


a bleeding heart like you

by lordbhreanna



Series: like oil and water [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hate Sex, Mild Sexual Content, Resident Evil 3 Remake inspired, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbhreanna/pseuds/lordbhreanna
Summary: “So considerate,” she adds, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Could’ve killed me and take the money.”Nicholai approaches a small terminal on the wall and lets out a dry chuckle while typing something on the panel.“The night is young, Miss Valentine.”“And here I thought you might be a bleeding heart too,” she notes sarcastically, echoing his words that now seemed distant in the past.-Against all odds, Jill and Nicholai escape Raccoon City together.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Jill Valentine
Series: like oil and water [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599376
Comments: 42
Kudos: 78





	a bleeding heart like you

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Restricted Work] by [Anuviel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuviel/pseuds/Anuviel). Log in to view. 



> This is kind of my own reimagination of RE3's events, mixing up the original (I took and rephrased some of Nicholai's lines when he escapes with the chopper) and what's been hinted at in the trailer. That is, one line by Nicholai and the fact that everyone's got a potty mouth now so Jill will swear away.
> 
> I love Carlos, the only reason he's dead here is because he'd be third-wheeling the whole time and to make Jill more fucked-up after Raccoon City. Sorry Carlos, love you!

Jill notices the chopper’s shape at the opposite side of the helipad and hurries, struggling to breathe as she limps towards the landing zone. She feels numb, her body moving on his own. Surviving has become an instinct, even if living has no meaning for her in a future sense. Still, she needs to see the light at the end, or all would be for nothing. Brad's death. Mikhail’s. Carlos’ too—the one who had risked his life to find a vaccine for her. It reminds her of different faces, ripped apart and corrupted. Faces of people she had called partners. Friends.

She has survived them all, for what?

Fate has put her through this senseless, rotting hell twice. She has overcome the virus itself. She will give it a last try, even as the corruption grows inside her.

-

The body of the pilot lies under the vehicle, the corpse of what must have been a factory worker beside him. The bite marks and dripping blood are enough evidence to understand what happened. But with or without a pilot, Jill walks to the chopper, resolved to make the thing fly.

The cocking of a gun freezes her.

“You're still alive. Such persistence.” The thick Russian accent leaves no room for doubt.

“Nicholai,” she mutters, glancing up to meet his cold eyes looking down at her from the helicopter.

He smirks. The gun touches her forehead slightly.

“First come, first served,” Nicholai says, shrugging. “There's no escape for you.”

“So, you wanna get out of here alone,” Jill can't help snorting. Too tired to even care. “Is that your plan?”

“I have made sure I'm the only one who knows what happened here. I might get a considerable bonus. It's business, nothing personal.”

Despite the closeness of the muzzle, Jill throws him a brazen glare.

“Why bother killing me? I'm not on Umbrella’s payroll.”

Nicholai simply clicks his tongue nonchalantly.

“They want you eliminated, and I don’t really care why. The amount is modest, but it’s worth it.” The pressure of the muzzle against her temple vanishes, and Jill blinks in surprise. He’s showing off a smug smile, standing victoriously inside the chopper over her. “Although I’m sure I’ll miss you, it’s time to say goodbye.”

Jill sees it coming and reacts instinctevely. She stops the kick just in time to make him lose balance. Grabbing at his calves, she props herself into the fuselage with the pain of her knees threatening to throw her off. Despite the exhaustion, the adrenaline runs so high Jill can’t even process what she’s attempting.

She isn’t even sure she can win Nicholai in hand-to-hand combat right now. This might just end up with a few more broken ribs and a bullet in her head. Jill acts without thinking and jumps onto him, slamming Nicholai against the metallic surface of the chopper’s floor and disarming him in the process. The gun flies away and hits the back of the vehicle. He’s quick, catching her forearms and yanking her so they roll and their positions turn around, pinning her down.

Jill grunts and uses her head to smack him on the forehead. It hurts badly, and there’s a thread of blood dripping down her nose—but it’s worth it just to see his pained expression.

“You’re a feisty one,” he barks, grimacing. His pale skin is bruising where she hit, red shining through.

She uses an opening and kicks him again, aiming for his crotch. They struggle, panting and groaning as he tries to keep her down and Jill resists with every ounce of strength she can muster. Finally, it’s her knee that hits his stomach. Nicholai gasps and loosens the grip on her wrists just enough for Jill to take advantage and turn things around.

Legs on each side of him, Jill pins Nicholai down. Her forearm lies pressed against his throat.

“And you’re a son of a bitch,” she spits. Something beeps in the cockpit and both dart his eyes to the blinking red light. Jill guesses instantly what it means. “How much do we have before the missiles impact?”

Nicholai doesn’t answer immediately. She can see the gears working fast inside his head, and the shadow of concern clouds his gaze.

“Five minutes at best,” he says, lips pursed.

Her heart starts racing faster. Jill draws a breath, and closes her eyes. “Fuck.”

This can’t be the end, not because of this sociopathic Russian. For a second, she thinks about killing him right there—she could use her handgun to put a bullet between his eyebrows. Maybe push harder, suffocate him and take the chopper away from this hell.

But it’s wrong and she knows it. This wasn’t her. This was the survivalist inside her, pushing Jill to the edge. Was survival worth everything, even herself?

His voice wakes her from her trance.

“I have a proposition,” Nicholai starts, and she can sense his body relaxing under her weight. “We can keep fighting and die here or we can… bury the hatchet, as you Americans say, and escape. Now.”

Jill blinks in surprise, bewildered that those words have come out of his mouth and not hers.

“So you can stab me in the back? No, thank you.”

Nicholai rolls his eyes and tips his lips into a smile. “Miss Valentine, the reward for your death is not worth my life, if that’s any assurance.”

Jill doesn’t like one bit giving into his suggestion—but there are no other options, she’s painfully aware of that. Her mind is overflowing with memories of rotting death and torn up corpses wearing the faces of good people. Was survival worth this? Probably not, but she could take down Umbrella with everything she knew. That’s all that matters. It can’t die with her in the ashes of Raccoon City. It’s what keeps her going.

Nicholai’s lack of morals was unmistakable, and so was his greed. She might trust that, at least.

“Deal,” she says finally, unsure whether this was defeat or victory.

-

Nicholai shoots her a side glance, hands still firmly placed over the helicopter controls. She has her fist clenched around her gun, shivering slightly. The nightmare is over, and yet she has a knot in her throat and all her body is tense. If she closes her eyes, she can see the reflection of the explosion. It will haunt her forever.

“What is the plan now, Miss Valentine?” he asks caustically. “I land the chopper, then we try to kill each other again?”

In other circumstances, she might have taken that as a veiled threat. It doesn’t provoke her this time, numbness and indifference overriding any other emotion. She snorts, leaning back into the copilot chair.

“You tell me. I don’t go about killing any bastard I’ve ever met, much as they deserve it,” she presses her lips, frowning slightly. “But you do love your money, right?”

Nicholai fixes his gaze on the horizon, a smirk creeping up on his lips. “I do. But this job has been difficult enough as it is, and you’re more resilient than I expected. Too much trouble.”

That’s a good reason as any other, she thinks. Her gut tells her she doesn’t really need to worry about Nicholai backstabbing her in the near future, even if that’s what he is. A treacherous snake with no qualms about getting his hands dirty for money.

The only silver lining is that she’s not dealing with an egomaniac like Wesker, which is poor consolation. She will take her victories where she can, though.

Letting out a deep, tired breath, Jill resumes the conversation.

“Well, where are you taking this chopper?”

“You will see,” he offers succinctly as an answer.

-

The Russian has taken them to a hidden glade in a nearby wood. Jill can’t exactly pinpoint their location, although it seems close enough to Raccoon City that the landscape hasn’t changed much. They haven't probably left the state. When the chopper lands and the rotor slows down, stirring up clouds of dust, Jill gets out of the cockpit as fast as she can.

Her legs and arms feel sore, with every open wound on her flesh itching and aching. She takes a look around, hearing Nicholai’s footsteps behind her as he leaves the chopper. The sky is getting darker, but she can see they’re surrounded by thick trees whose canopy shadows the dim sunlight. Strangely, Jill doesn’t find anything inconspicuous. Now there’s silence once more, her ears welcome the absence of noise, the chirping of birds. A soft breeze blows her hair out of her face.

“The closest town is around 70 miles away in that direction,” Nicholai informs, slightly startling her. He’s pointing south. “If I were you, I would start walking now.”

It’s not like she expected any help from him, or wanted it for that matter, but still she can’t help the boiling rage building up inside her.

“You’re such an asshole,” Jill grumbles, shaking her head.

“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Valentine,” he yells, and she can hear the smugness in his voice as she starts limping in the opposite direction.

She simply answers by giving him the middle finger and continues on her way, leaving him behind. It will take her almost a day to reach the alleged town—that is, if Nicholai isn’t lying. She’s injured, exhausted. Her mouth feels parched, her stomach might start growling once her body runs out of adrenaline.

Her head gets dizzier with each step, the earth under her feet seems to wobble. Like she is walking on moving sands instead of solid ground. A warm sensation grows at the pit of her stomach, painful and rotted. Before she knows it, she has collapsed on her knees, dry-heaving as her body starts shaking in pain. There’s a sense of haziness, and she can’t even remember where she is—and she feels it again, the poison running through her veins. Has the vaccine not worked? It sickens her, and Jill starts wheezing and coughing uncontrollably.

She hears a noise behind her, then everything turns pitch black.

-

Her eyelids feel heavy, as if she had taken the longest nap and couldn’t move her body on her own. With effort, she manages to open up her eyes a little, enough to notice a pale, white light. Blinking languidly, Jill realises she’s not outdoors anymore—the light looks artificial and the air is dry, recycled.

Warm arms are grabbing her, one under her knees and the other around her midriff. That’s when she realises she’s being carried, and the thought makes her spring like someone had kicked her in her sleep.

“What?!” she produces a broken exclamation, wriggling in shock. The arms tighten their grip. Jill shakes her head and shoots a glare towards her carrier.

Her blood freezes when she sees Nicholai’s face.

Nicholai’s face up too close, she might add.

“What the hell? What are you doing?” she mumbles, still dizzy and confused. The last thing she remembers is walking into the forest and feeling sick.

“You’re welcome,” he slurs, slightly frowning.

Before Jill can reply back, he puts her down on a flimsy mattress that creaks under her. That’s when she sees clearly her surroundings, the bleak concrete walls, the stuttering lamps on the ceiling. It looks grey and empty, except for a few commodities.

This is a safehouse, she realises. From the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of a logo in a locker. The UBCS’ badge, so it means this must be their safehouse—or just one of the many secret facilities Umbrella has spread out around the country. The atmosphere tells her that they’re underground too.

“You fainted,” he explains with a snarkiness Jill doesn’t appreciate, towering over her with arms crossed.

She shoots him a puzzled glare, still confused about this whole situation.

“Then why didn’t you leave me outside?” she wonders, squinting.

“It risked attracting unwanted attention,” he says chuckling, as if it’s obvious. “This might be an isolated area, but a decaying corpse only brings trouble. And I had enough of those in Raccoon City, don’t you agree?”

Jill moves to the edge of the cot, elbows on her knees and her hand on her temple. Nothing makes sense. She’s getting the greatest of headaches—just what she needs right now, Jill thinks bitterly.

“So considerate,” she adds, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Could’ve killed me and take the money.”

Nicholai approaches a small terminal on the wall and lets out a dry chuckle while typing something on the panel.

“The night is young, Miss Valentine.”

Yes, she thinks again, nothing about this situation makes sense. Some part of her might be straight up faking it all—this might just a dream. Though she can’t decide if it’s a good or a bad one, and that makes her gulp.

But her reaction is a simple roll of her eyes, her lips drawn into a tired smile.

“And here I thought you might be a bleeding heart too,” she notes sarcastically, echoing his words that now seemed distant in the past.

Nicholai finishes whatever he was doing at the terminal and turns to her, arriving in front of her with a few steps. His attitude is confident, like he still has the upper-hand. Jill concedes that he might, given the circumstances—but somehow she doesn’t feel threatened at all, even if she can’t make sense of his actions.

He leans over, smirking, and it’s like he whispers into her ear despite being some distance between them.

“Feel free to leave when you’re better, Miss Valentine. Or I might reconsider taking that reward.”

-

The sound of running water fills the room. It comes from a separate section, only hidden by a plain, grey wall where Nicholai has disappeared to. Jill grabs the sink after splashing more water on her face. The water drips down to the drainpipe dirty and black, as the grime comes off her skin. There’s a nauseous feeling in her stomach, although she isn’t sick anymore. The pain has worn down, at least, despite the several slashes and bruises she has collected. But she’s still light-headed, everything spinning around her at times.

When Jill looks at herself in the mirror, she sees a piece of rotting flesh falling off her cheek. Then her eyes turn white, blood splatters everywhere. Jill blinks and the mirror changes. Now it’s Brad, his chest torn open and his face pale and dead. Jill blinks again, shaking her head. An invisible hand clenches around her throat. A bloodied Carlos stares at her from the mirror.

He doesn’t speak, but his look is accusing. You killed me, she hears in her head. It’s Carlos’ voice, and Brad’s. Jill rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands, unable to avoid a whimper coming out of her mouth. Her arms and clothes are filthy, tarnished with blood and putrid flesh remains. She feels the need to rip it all off, her skin included. Her tank top comes off, she kicks her boots out, and keeps removing every layer until all is left in front of the mirror is her. Just her. Her skin itches, bruised and wounded and covered in dirt.

She gulps, scrubbing at her exposed skin with bare nails. Jill is breaking at the seams. She has been losing herself for three months. This might just be the tipping point.

Maybe she can’t take it any longer.

Was surviving worth it? The question keeps hammering her mind over and over. A part of her wants to believe that it is. Yet she can’t make sense of it now, and that’s the problem.

The water keeps running on the other side, and her feet start moving towards it. She crosses the threshold, seeing the steam haze coming off the utilitarian shower. Jill knows this is a mad idea, insane even.

But maybe she just needs a bit of insane to make sense of everything else. And god, she does need a shower.

-

When she opens the screen of the shower, Nicholai stops dead frozen and shoots her an incredulous stare with eyes wide open, hand against the tiled wall. He checks her up and down, blinking slowly. Trying to understand, probably, why she is standing right there completely naked.

Jill ignores his reaction and pushes him to the side to make room for herself inside the shower. Her palm brushes his chest briefly. For the first time, she also notices he is practically one head taller than her. It might have been intimidating in such close quarters, but Jill just doesn’t care anymore.

The sprinkler keeps pouring hot water and Jill welcomes the feeling, as drops start to clean away the dirt and blood on her hair and skin. No sound comes out of their mouths. The only noise is the stream of water pouring over them until Nicholai’s accented voice speaks up.

“You are a very strange woman, Jill Valentine,” she hears him say, their backs barely touching.

Jill shrugs off his comment. It's not like she is certain of who she is anymore. Not after Raccoon City. Strange is a good adjective as any.

Jill keeps rubbing at her scalp, head bowed. The jet hits her straight on the nape of her neck, and she's sure it's getting redder by the second. She scratches the spot, nails clawing deep in her back muscles.

“Tell me. What is the reward for my head?“ she asks with morbid curiosity, smiling to herself.

He shifts his stance. Perhaps he is savoring the answer, or just playing enigmatic. When he moves again, balancing the weight from one leg to the other, their backs bump lightly. Jill jerks a little, raising her head. She slicks her hair back and lets the water pour over her eyelids.

"Five percent of the total quantity."

His voice is like a sneer. Mockery, even. Her head turns, enough to catch a glimpse of his well-built frame. His arms are stretched out as he leans over the tiled wall.

"Is that it?” she quips. “I thought I'd be worth more.”

Nicholai's disdainful chuckle echoes.

“After seeing you in action, I have to agree.”

The way he enunciates it borders on complimentary, which takes Jill slightly by surprise. Straightening up, she turns on her heels and fixes her gaze on the back of his neck. Strands of soaked hair stick to her cheeks.

“So you're really not planning on collecting?” Jill pushes once more. Slowly, Nicholai turns around and faces her, his look fixed on her with a raw intensity she wasn't expecting. “Now it'd be the perfect time,” she dares to point out with defiance, chin tilted up.

He lifts one eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. Jill feels as if she's offering herself on a silver plate. The most stupid thing she has ever done in her life. But somehow she's compelled to provoke him, to challenge him and see how far it goes. Perhaps she has a death wish, too, but she feels like a stranger in her own skin right now.

She only sees this ending in two different ways, and either is fine with her right now. The fact that picking up a fight seems to be the more reasonable option is telling of how crazy this whole situation has become.

Nicholai takes a step forward. Water runs down his temples, his clavicle, his abdomen. He looms over her. Jill doesn't move back an inch, glaring at him the whole time. She bites her inner cheek.

“Would you like me to kill you, Miss Valentine?” he says, and his voice is almost drowned out by the water.

It sends a shiver through her spine, and Jill knows she is beyond making right choices this evening. She gives him a push, his back hitting the opposite wall of the shower. Her hands stay there, against his chest. His breathing quickens.

“I'd like you to try.”

He raises a tentative hand to the side of her head, and Jill doesn't flinch. His knuckles graze her cheek, putting wild damp strands of hair out of her face. Then his lips curl up into a smile, which still retains some viciousness and is probably not sincere in the slightest. Jill simply cocks her head, pulls him down by the neck and bites his lower lip.

She feels his own smirk as he cups the back of her head with one hand, forcing Jill to stand on her tiptoes. He kisses her back fiercely, and it's more like they're fighting to overpower the other than actually kissing—and it's thrilling and exhilarating and so fucking good.

Nicholai's free hand finds her hips, fingers sinking into her flesh, dragging her closer to him. She jolts back a bit and breaks the kiss, but they keep staring at each other, gasping for air, steaming hot water still raining over them.

"We're not fighting then, I guess," he whispers into her ear amusedly.

Jill chews her lip, turning her head slightly to the side. Then she shoots him a glare, eyebrow quirked up.

"The night is young, Nicholai."

She traps his lips again, adrenaline rushing through her veins and any notion of self control washed away by the water and the warmth of his tongue inside her mouth.

Jill lets him push her against the wall, lets him corner her, his fingertips digging at her hips and back so deep it'll leave a mark, lets him leave her swollen lips as his mouth trails down to her throat, her breasts, her navel. He has the audacity to glance up at her while kneeling, self-assured and confident, as he raises her leg and places it over his shoulder.

Jill closes her eyes, buries her fingers in his silver hair and takes a deep breath.

-

When Jill pictured the end of the nightmare, it’s definitely not like this. Not catching her breath while she’s straddling Nicholai Ginovaef, all covered in sweat and panting after the orgasm has her still shaking. And yet this is where she is. Jill doesn’t regret it, though she’s aware of the dangers. Whatever she intended with this, it seems to work.

For once her mind feels clearer, the clouds and shadows dissipate into nothing. She blinks a few times and it’s slightly easier not to recall the dead bodies of her friends and colleagues. Not to think about the virus inside her. She knows this is just putting a band aid over an open wound. Inefficient, a brief comfort. But she will take it, because it feels somewhat good.

Neither of them say a word, their chests rising up and down. His hands are still firmly clasped around her waist, and for a moment Jill thinks his thumb is caressing her tenderly over a spot where a bruise is darkening.

It's thrilling to have this sense of control over someone like him— _especially_ him. The bastard had fucked up every escape plan, would have left them all for dead if it would earn him money. She’s not quick to hate, but god Jill hates his guts with a passion. Yet here they are. She senses it, that somehow his greed and selfishness have been mixed up with something more, a strange glint in his pale, cold eyes. Perhaps he does intend to collect his pay—or perhaps he just needed to blow off steam, and they’re on a similar page.

After what seems an eternity, she takes the initiative and is the first to move. Lifting one leg carefully, her muscles strained and sore, Jill gets off the bunk bed where they had ended up after deciding the shower wasn’t comfortable anymore. They had tripped all the way to the bed until Nicholai had grabbed her by the thighs and lifted her up with incredible ease. Jill can still remember the yelp she had produced then, between moans, as they refused to leave each other's mouths. The water marks on the floor are evidence enough, and Jill is careful not to slip on them as she walks towards her clothes.

She scowls with disgust at the pair of dirty jeans and underwear, but she has only managed to find one white cotton t-shirt as replacement. In silence, she starts to get dressed in her old clothes reluctantly, and makes an effort to avoid looking back or just acknowledge Nicholai’s presence.

The game of pretend is short, and finally he is the one to break the ice.

“Well, I think I will actually miss you now, Miss Valentine,” he jokes, letting out a dry chuckle.

When she turns on her heels, already finished with her buckles and holsters, he’s sitting naked on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and a wicked grin covering his lips.

She chins up, adjusting her belts, and presses the button to open the shutter that will take her to the stairs outside. To reality. To a new, terrifying life.

They don’t break eye contact. Knowing now that, ironically, despite being an utter dirtbag, there’s the faintest shadow of a bleeding heart in him that he can’t even recognize, Jill smirks as if she has won the round.

“And I hope I never get to see your face ever again, Nicholai.”

**Author's Note:**

> SurendaHUSIO has done a beautiful and amazing fanart inspired by this story, you can check it out [here](https://lordbhreanna.tumblr.com/post/615859049728229376/husio-aban-is-the-sweetest-and-has-sent-me)! Thank you so much again! ❤️
> 
> -
> 
> RE3 hype and my newfound liking of enemies to lovers are the reason I'm obsessed with this ship, something I had never considered before and can't get out of my head now. Like REALLY obsessed. 
> 
> Are there any fellow... ~~Valenviev/Zinotine shippers out there? Are those shipnames even cool? I'm too old and can't tell, and Capcom drives me nuts with Nikolai's name localization.~~ Settled for Valenvaef! Anyway, please welcome aboard, right now this ship is as empty as the Queen Zenobia, but luckily there'll be like three more of us by April!


End file.
